Heather Jones & the Case of the Weeping Charizard
by Penelope Copplestone
Summary: After an unexpected encounter with an eccentric artist, amateur sleuth Heather Jones decides to investigate a local art gallery. Will Heather and her Vulpix be able to uncover the secret behind the Weeping Charizard in time?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I love Pokemon and mystery novels, so I decided that, "Hey, why not come up with a Pokemon Detective Story?"

"Heather Jones" takes place in Johto. I'm not that familiar with Fourth Generation Pokemon, so I wouldn't probably include them here. Anyway, happy reading! And please review. I'd love to hear what you have to say.

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I would never forget the day I met Antonio De Vega.

It was summer then, and everyone at Olivine City knew that this was the season of sweat, sunburns and tourists.

The tourists, in their sunglasses and flip-flops, would annually invade the city. They behaved pretty much like a flock of birds returning from the South. First, they would fill up the coast and temporarily turn the shore into a kingdom of sandcastles and beach towels. Then, after every square inch of sand has been stepped upon, they would move inland, armed with oversized maps and Polaroid cameras.

Usually, I didn't mind this migration, as long as they stayed out of my favorite hangout. But that year, even the Olivine Café was filled. It surprised me when I started seeing people on the balcony tables. The balcony was hardly used. _Ever_.

Frowning, I walked over to a small table at the far end of the Café, with Vulpix at my heels. I set down my glass of lemonade and looked around. "What's with the sudden population boom?"

*At least we found someplace to sit. Wake me up when you want to go home.* Vulpix said wearily as she settled herself on the ground. She stretched before curling up into an orange ball of fur.

I nodded at her and gulped down the last of my lemonade. Despite the crowd, the Olivine Café was still my comfort zone. I heaved in a sigh. It was time to relax. Crossing my legs, I pulled out a Conan Doyle masterpiece from my backpack and flipped it open on the table. I turned the pages and mumbled to myself, "Now where were we?"

Suddenly, as if purposely ruining that moment of peace, Antonio De Vega approached. I had only seen the artist and his works in magazines. His paintings always depicted psychotic Pokemon with exaggerated expressions. There was the famous _Wrath of a Magmar_ and the _Psyduck's Laughter_. Although, I found them a bit too weird for my taste, many people considered De Vega a phenomenal artist. One magazine even dubbed him the "Painter of the Century."

At first, it was hard to believe that I was actually looking at _the_ Antonio De Vega. But who else in the world had a green goatee and a Mohawk? It was undeniably, undoubtedly, unmistakably _him._

"Is this seat taken?" De Vega's casually asked. His voice was deep and hoarse. I stared at the green Mohawk and shook my head. For some reason, I didn't want to look at him straight in the eye. It was awkward enough to be in the presence of someone so famous, but talking to them was another thing.

Beneath me, I felt Vulpix's fur brush against my leg.

*Who's he?* I heard her ask.

I didn't answer. De Vega pulled the chair back and sat down in front of me with ease, as if we've known each other for years. What's worse was that he seemed to have just hopped off a flying saucer. He wore a silver leather jacket, with pink stripes all over the sleeves. His sunglasses were of the same metallic gray.

"Skarmory-inspired clothing," Antonio beamed proudly at me and jammed a thumb towards his chest. That did it. I closed my book shut and prepared to leave when he continued the conversation. "Now, what do you recommend?"

He paged through the menu.

"The croissant is good," I muttered, hoping he'd notice how uncomfortable I was getting. I pushed the chair back and got up.

"Two butter croissants, please," Antonio de Vega called out to a waitress. She swiftly took out her notepad to jot the down the order, "One for me and one for this young lady right here."

"Oh no no no! Wait!" I tried to call out to the waitress. _I don't want to eat with this man!_ I watched in vain as her hairnet-clad head disappeared behind the counter. _We just met!_

I turned my gaze towards De Vega, trying to compose myself. "Thank you sir, but I really have to go home. My mom's-"

Antonio interrupted. "Do you live around here?"

I nodded nervously and swung my backpack over my shoulder. _Look! I have to go!_

"Then you must know The Artbox." Antonio stated, completely ignoring my attempts at leaving.

I nodded again. The Artbox was that quaint old art gallery on 15th Street, a short walk away from the light house. I remembered seeing a mural of a Girafarig above the door. Occasionally, I would glance at the paintings displayed on the shop front, but I never had the urge or the time to go in.

"Well, the other day, I decided to drop by, you know, to see their display," Antonio continued. He leaned forward and lowered down his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. "And guess what I found?"

The artist paused and looked at me with a piercing, inescapable stare that sent shivers up my spine. Instinctively, I took a step back. _What is this man's problem?_

When I didn't say anything, Antonio declared in an excited whisper, "I found one of my paintings!"

Ridiculous.

"You're Antonio de Vega, artist extraordinaire!" I exclaimed. "You shouldn't be surprised!"

Antonio laughed heartily, causing heads to turn. He went on, "Can you not see? There are only two certified copies of _The_ _Weeping Charizard_. One of them is at home. The other was brought by a private art collector."

Vulpix leaped onto my seat and tilted her ears backwards. "Vulpix?_"_

"Right. What does that mean?" I asked, repeating my Pokémon's question.

Antonio shrugged his shoulders dramatically. "I'm thinking something fishy's going on down there. I went to ask the man at the counter where they get their paintings. Told me they're all the way from a distributor in Kanto. A ship comes once a month to deliver them."

By now, the waitress returned with a plate of croissants. Before I could blink, De Vega had already devoured one of them. He offered the other to me, and upon my refusal, finished it in three bites. He brusquely wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up.

"It's been bothering me for days now. I'd like to look into it if I have time, but, an important man has more important things to do. Thanks for listening. I'll see ya' round, kid," he turned around with a flourish and walked away.

--------------

"And then he turned around with a flourish and walked away!" I finished, waving my arms in excitement. "It was unbelievable, Mom. Out of nowhere, _the_ Antonio de Vega came and decided to join me for breakfast!"

The first thing that I did upon arriving home was to pour out the whole story to my mother, who patiently listened as she struggled to bake another batch of muffins. I gave up all hopes of eating decent food that afternoon when a burning smell permeated the air.

Mom just laughed when I finished my story. She put on her mitts, bent down and pulled out a tray of black corn muffins from the oven, which was followed by a wisp of smoke. "Heather, Antonio de Vega had always been eccentric."

She set the tray upon the kitchen counter and took a paper towel to wipe her forehead. "He wears the strangest clothes. On TV, he always looked like he just came from a Pokémon festival."

"You can say that again. He was a total creep!" I remarked. De Vega was _indeed_ an oddball with his Mohawk and all, but for some reason, his Artbox story tickled my curiosity.

_What if I-? _The thought made me smile. I slid off the dining chair and walked towards the door. I gestured for Vulpix to follow and as quick as lightning, she leaped off the couch she had been sleeping on and trotted towards me. I pushed the door open. "Mom! I'm going to take Vulpix out for a walk. We'll be back by six!"

"Alright, dear! You take care!" Mrs. Jones called back from the kitchen.

--------------

Once we were outside, Vulpix sneered at me, *Come on, Heather. I know you're up to somethng. The last time you 'took me for a walk', you only wanted to sneak out and buy ice cream,*

"No. It's not ice cream this time," I smiled confidently. I deepened my voice and spoke in a British accent, "I believe we have important matters to attend to, Watson."

Vulpix sighed. *Not that again.*

I laughed.

As a child, I had loved pretending to be Sherlock Holmes. My obsession began when I was seven. Dad sent me a picture book version of Conan Doyle's famous novel. At night, I would cuddle up with the book and lose myself in the story. The next day, with Dad's magnifying glass in hand, I would pretend to walk upon the cobbled streets of London while solving "the case of the missing cookie". Of course, Vulpix was always the culprit.

But I wasn't playing pretend anymore. This time, I wanted to play detective for real.

--------------


	2. Chapter 2

Soon after we left home, I realized that I was on a wild goose chase. First, I have to build a stable foundation – gather enough facts and verify information. I thought about calling Antonio De Vega, but I didn't know where he was staying. At that moment, I had no time to call every single inn, resort and hotel in Olivine City just to pinpoint where he was.

Is there anyone who can give me what I need? Does anyone else have access to classified information?

Suddenly, a light-bulb lit up somewhere in the corners of my mind. But the light it shed wasn't at all bright. It was blood-red, foreboding and threatening. I realized that if I wanted information as soon as possible, I've got no other choice. I gulped.

"I have to talk to him." I muttered almost inaudibly as we halted to a stop.

Right in front of us stood the telephone booth with its red-framed glass door open. It was a torture chamber in disguise, standing there innocently, waiting to swallow me up.

*Am I hearing you correctly? Are you saying you want to talk to that _jerk?* _Vulpix asked, trying to stifle a giggle. She knew who I meant, since there's no other person in the world whom I despised more.

I nodded, keeping my eyes glued on that telephone booth. It seemed to be staring back at me, asking me if I was really wishing to push through with this, asking me if it was worth it. Visions of the annoying know-it-all and his mop of blue hair filled my mind. But I quickly replaced him with an image of Holmes, turning the telephone dial, looking as calm and composed as ever.

"Well, Vulpix, here I go!" I announced, my voice trembling a bit. Not exactly calm and composed but close enough.

*Good luck, Heather,* this time, Vulpix actually laughed. *I'll wait here.*

I hesitated at first, then went in. My right arm felt heavy as I lifted it up to insert the coins. My fingers felt numb as I punched the numbers.

4-1-1.

Almost immediately after I dialed, a female voice came on the other end, "Olivine City 411. What is your emergency?"

_Well_, I reasoned to myself, _in a way, this _is_ an emergency_. I cleared my throat, trying hard to keep my voice steady. "I need to speak to Jim Lawford."

I heard a sigh on the other end of the line. "Kid, we are not tolerating any prank calls. This isn't Jim Lawford's home number. This is an emergency hot-line. If you continue – "

I heard another voice, then static.

_Damn, Heather! What did you just do? Calling the police station just to talk to the most obnoxious kid on the face of the earth?_

But what else can I do? The police station is probably Jim's second home. Still, I felt nauseous, like I just gulped down a gallon of eggnog. I almost hung up when someone came on. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Heather Jones," I said, wondering if telling them my real name had been the wise thing to do.

"Heather," the voice repeated. It was deep - definitely a male. "Heather, this is Jim. I'm going to call you in a minute."

Before I could reply, he hung up.

Jim? That was him? Where was Mr. Squeaky-pants? From the phone booth, I looked out at Vulpix, who was on the other side of the road. She seemed to be grooming herself – licking her paws clean.

"Vulpix," I whispered, pretending my Pokemon could hear me. "Was that really Jim? Or did the Police Department just played a prank _on me?"_

For a while there, I stood still. I felt as if an Abra had used Confusion on me. My head was spinning.

Then it hit me.

_Duh._ He's an adolescent now. The last time I spoke with him, we were in the fifth grade at the Academy. That was when? Two years ago? He was still a kid back then, and his voice had sounded like an Azurill writhing in pain. He had smirked and snickered whenever he bested me by two points on a quiz. He had squeaked and ratted on me every chance he got. He had laughed his irritating, cacophonous high pitched laugh every time the teacher reprimanded me afterward.

Now, Jimmy the Squeaking Geek-freak was squeaking no more. But a grown up larynx doesn't mean he turned over a new leaf. For all I know, he could still be the mean dumb-sucker that he had been in grade school.

I stared at the phone. He said he was going to call me back in a minute. Should I trust him? I shrugged and prepared to leave when the payphone rang.

"H-hello?" I stumbled over my words.

"Heather," It was him. I still couldn't get used to the voice. "The 411 line records all incoming calls. I'm guessing you don't want that. I'm calling you from my Blueberry."

He was still rubbing it in my face that he's gadget boy and police hotshot rolled into one. If you ask me, the only reason behind this is the fact that he's got Officer Jenny for a mother. I shook myself out of my thoughts. Come on, Heather, this isn't fifth grade anymore. Don't flail on the ground, dying of envy.

"Jim. I need your help," I cringed at how desperate I sounded. At that moment, my pride just dropped a meter down the scale.

"What?"

"I need you to give me the name and phone number of a certain private collector," I said quickly. I want to get this over with as soon as possible. "The one who owns De Vega's _Weeping Charizard._"

Instead of making things easier for both of us, Jim decided to butt his nose in my business. "Why?"

I paused. I could hear him snicker on the other end. "Because. It's important."

"You're not making me do your homework, are you?" he asked. I imagined a smirk creeping on his face.

"No!" I shouted. I looked around to see if anyone had heard me, although the phone booth was soundproof. Regret washed over me and suffocated me. This wasn't definitely worth it. If I knew beforehand that he was just going to interrogate me until midnight, then I should've just called each and every single one of Olivine's hotels. "If you're not going to help me, thanks for – "

He interrupted. "Where are you anyway? Why are you using a payphone? Why not use your landline? Does your mother know where you are? How'd you think she'll react if I tell her what you're up to, calling the police station just to talk to me? I always knew you had a thing for me."

I heard him chuckle and I just about lost it when he continued. "The name's Alberto Verdacci. He lives in Saffron City and his home number's 457-8990."

Despite being the pain in the ass that he is, no kid can match Jim when it comes to gathering intelligence. He mastered the layout of the Police Department Archives when we just began learning about fractions. And word got around that lately, he was able to hack into the Johto Bureau of Investigation. The best part is that his mother's turning a blind eye on all of this. Vulpix and I agreed that Officer Jenny's secretly proud that her son is evolving into the Wonder Hacker.

I muttered a "thanks" that sounded more like a hiccup.

"Sure. And Heather?" he asked, sounding unusually nice.

"Yes?" I narrowed my eyes. Go ahead, Jim. Throw your latest insult at me, see if it lands.

There was silence, then, "Never mind."

He hung up.

Again, it was as if that imaginary Abra came back to heave another Confusion attack at me. I was in a daze. What is up with him? A strange feeling crept over me. I felt a little, well, a _little _glad that Jim didn't sting as much as he did back then. It's like he's becoming milder. More mature? I don't know.

I turned around on my heels, feeling surprisingly giddy, when I caught Vulpix yawning. She gave me a look that told me to hurry. I nodded at her and smiled.

_It's time to get back to business, Heather._

Taking a deep breath, I began to dial Alberto Verdacci's number.


	3. Chapter 3

*How'd it go?* Vulpix asked once we've crossed the street from the phone booth.

I ignored her knowing look and told her about Alberto Verdacci - how he had confirmed that the second authorized copy of the _Weeping Charizard_ is hanging cozily in his living room. "In fact, he even said, 'I'm looking at it even as we speak.'"

Vulpix chuckled. *So you got him to help you.*

I knew what she'd wanted to ask ever since I got out of that phone booth. I played innocent. "Who? Mr. Verdacci? He was a _real_ gentleman. I didn't even have to explain why I was – "

Vulpix interrupted. *I'm guessing you're not ready to talk about Pipsqueak Lawford.*

I guess after five years of being my Pokemon, Vulpix came to know me well. _Too _well.

I didn't have time to come up with a retort.

Right ahead of us stood a small two story building. The words "THE ARTBOX", neatly painted in red, sat on top of the display window. There was a faded mural of a Girafarig one side of the building, its head nesting on the upper edge of the door.

"We're here," I announced as if we had just landed off a plane on Cannibal Island.

Vulpix and I walked towards the front door. Upon closer inspection, the building looked like it needed a good scrubbing. The white washed walls were now stained with grime. The wide display window was almost translucent with dirt. Behind the glass, a handful of paintings were propped up on easels. They looked like they hadn't been touched in ages.

*Should we go in?* Vulpix asked. She fumbled around hesitantly.

I pressed my face closer to the glass window and looked in. Behind the display, I could see a dimly lit room with paintings hugging all four walls. Off to one side, someone was walking towards a door in the back. He was struggling with a large painting draped in fabric.

"Come on! Someone's still in there," I said and tried the front door. It opened with a creak.

Inside, the Artbox was as dreary as the outside. For one thing, the air was musty and I could practically see cobwebs hanging from the eaves.

To my right, a wooden counter wrapped itself around the length of the wall. As expected, the surface of the counter was covered with a fine layer of dust. I leaned over to take a closer look. There were a few knickknacks scattered here and there: a dusty Dragonite paperweight with the word "Valencia" engraved on it, a dog eared sports magazine and a Lapras keychain. There were only two keys attached to the keychain – one was labeled "Main", the other "Storage".

Off to one side, there were a couple of magazines with shiny plastic covers. One looked like an art catalogue, while the other was a copy of _Men's Fashion Week_.

Above the counter, a small shelf was awkwardly placed between two small Oriental paintings. It held up a row of trophies. I stood up on my tiptoes, squinted and read, "First Place in Orange Island Surfing Championship. Wow."

Someone cleared their throat and I almost stumbled. "May I help you?"

I spun around and saw a tall, thin blonde guy – about twenty-ish – standing behind me. He was wearing a white tailored shirt and a plaid vest, looking very sophisticated and grouchy.

"Good afternoon, um," I read his nametag. "Mr. Jeremiah. I was just uh –"

"The paintings are over there," he said in a monotonous voice, then straightened his arm and pointed a crooked finger towards the main gallery.

I nodded quickly then ushered Vulpix towards the main gallery. I could feel Jeremiah's piercing gaze burning my back as I went down every aisle, looking for a crying reptile, or something close enough. When we rounded the last aisle, my heart was going on one twenty per minute.

"It's not here," I whispered. A lump formed in my throat. "You don't suppose - ?"

*That De Vega was lying?* Vulpix said. She began sniffing around. *He was weird, but I don't think he was a downright liar.*

"Then why isn't the _Charizard _here?" I almost choked on my words as I watched her circle the ground. "Hey! Do you need to _go?_"

Vulpix ignored me. She continued sniffing until she was nose to nose with a Milotic. A painting of a Milotic, that is. The canvas was huge – about two by three feet. It depicted the serpent Pokemon in a lake, swimming with a beautiful woman with red and blue hair.

I bent down to read the nameplate on the bottom of the painting, "The Maiden's Milotic."

I gave Vulpix a quizzical look.

*It _smells_ weird,* she whispered. *Like coconut.*

I knitted my brows. Coconut?

"Are you looking for something?" Jeremiah looked up at us from the art catalogue he was reading. He was sitting behind the counter, just right down the aisle.

I shook my head. "Just browsing."

When I couldn't take Blonde Boy's dagger stare any longer, I scooped up Vulpix and dashed for the door.

I gave the Artbox one last look before walking away. "I can't believe it. The _Weeping Charizard_ wasn't there! We checked twice!"

*Maybe it was completely shrouded in dust that it was impossible for us to see it.* Vulpix said.

I rolled my eyes. This was no time for jokes. I mean, seriously. Dust? Then suddenly, something clicked. I turned around and ran back to the gallery. "Vulpix, I need you to go 'round the building."

*_What?*_

I stopped when we were a few feet away from the Artbox. "People would notice if I start running laps around an art gallery. If you do it, it'd be more discreet."

*_Why?*_

"I need you to go look for something – _anything._ Doors, windows, trapdoors, _anything," _I said, and before I could say another word, Vulpix was off.


	4. Chapter 4

I couldn't sleep that night. Something very wrong was going on at The Artbox.

Earlier that evening, I gave Alberto Verdacci a call as soon as I got home. He was an expert alright. When I mentioned the _Maiden's Milotic_, he knew just what I was talking about. I managed to squeeze out some information from him, and up until now, I was still turning it over and over in my head.

"Figasso never authorized any copies of his _Maiden's Milotic_," he'd said.

"So you mean, apart from the original, there are no other copies?" I had asked.

"Yes."

Yes. Something very, _very_ wrong was going on at The Artbox. I tossed in bed for the hundredth time and almost fell out of bed. On the rug just beneath me was Vulpix, curled up and fast asleep.

I turned to face the ceiling. I knew one thing. Jeremiah is definitely behind this. But how did he make perfect copies of those paintings?

I turned to face the door. Maybe he's an artist himself and in his spare time, he creates illegitimate copies of famous paintings. _Or _maybe,he's running an underground forgery operation. I've got to tell the police. But would they listen to me? No. I need good, solid evidence.

I turned to face the closet. I could hear mom snoring in the next room. What if - ?

I looked up. The clock on the wall read 8:30. In a minute, I was out of bed and changing out of my pajamas.

-------------

"Wake up!" I whispered and gave Vulpix another shake. This time, she finally woke up. She lifted her head and gaped. *Where are you going?*

I hurriedly grabbed a knapsack and threw in a flashlight and a pair of binoculars. "To The Artbox."

*What?* Vulpix rubbed one eye with her paw. *Are you _crazy?*_

"The day's not over yet, Watson," I said, and then put on an oversized jacket. Vulpix stretched, and with a sigh, followed me out the door.

-------------

In the movies, stake-outs always _looked_ fun. But as Vulpix and I sat behind garbage cans in an alleyway across The Artbox; as we sat still, suffocating on the smell of rotten onions, my opinion of stake-outs pretty much changed.

*Couldn't you have picked a better spot?* Vulpix asked. She stuck her tongue out and squeezed her eyes. Her sense of smell was much more sensitive than mine, so this was probably killing her.

"Sorry, Pix," I said, picking up my binoculars. "But this _is_ the perfect spot. You told me earlier that the building has only one door and three windows, am I right?"

*Yup,* Vulpix replied, remembering what she had seen earlier when she ran around the gallery. *One display window on the first floor and on the second floor, there are two windows facing the street.*

From our little spot, I had a good view of all three windows. I zoomed in on the display window. "Hey, look! He's turning off the lights!"

Vulpix scrambled on top of some boxes for a better look. *He's bound to leave soon.*

But, boy was she wrong.

We waited and waited, but Jeremiah never came out of that door.

"Are you sure there's only _one _door?" This was probably the fifth time I had asked Vulpix this question.

"Yes!" she snapped back then muttered something about doubting Pokemon.

I put the binoculars down and looked at my wristwatch. The shorter hand pointed at ten. Jeremiah turned off all the lights at 9:00 pm. We've been waiting for an hour.

*What if he lives here?* Vulpix asked for the fourth time. Our conversation was going around in circles.

"No," I replied wearily, too tired to snap back. I told her, once again, that Jeremiah couldn't possibly be living in The Artbox. First of all, the second floor remained unlit. In fact, the entire art gallery was as dark as hell.

Secondly, he isn't the owner. I recalled the items I've seen on the counter and on the shelf: the trophies, the paperweight, the magazines…

"The owner is away on a vacation in the Orange Islands," I'd explained to Vulpix a moment ago. "He's a regular first placer and he couldn't possibly afford to miss out the Surfing Tournament."

It was true. I couldn't imagine Jeremiah, with his skinny physique, conquering the waves. Besides, apart from being snotty, he was also very neat. If he kept his clothes ironed and his art magazines covered, he wouldn't let a speck of dust settle on his possessions. It was clear that the surfing memorabilia weren't his.

Pretty soon, my head was spinning with paintings and surfboards. It wasn't long before I fell asleep.

-------------

This time, it was Vulpix who woke me up. She nipped my thumb.

"Ow!" I yelped and jerked my thumb away. "What was that about?"

*Look!* Vulpix pointed a paw towards The Artbox. Sure enough, there was Jeremiah himself, locking up. I looked at my watch. 1:00 am.

Where had he been for the past three hours?

"Come on," I said. "I'll follow him from the opposite side of street, while you tail him directly from behind. That way, we won't lose him."

Vulpix nodded and leapt off into the street. She waited until Jeremiah was a couple of yards ahead before she followed.

Slowly, I began to stand up. But suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind, and before I could scream, a hand shot up and covered my mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

I struggled and tried to wring myself away from my attacker, but he had one of his arms wrapped tightly around me while the other was still covering my mouth. I could feel his breath on my neck. I shivered.

A million possibilities ran through my mind. Jeremiah had seen us hiding from across the street. He knew we were out to uncover his secret. He contacted his accomplice. I was going to be killed. Vulpix, why did I send you away?

"Don't move or I'll electrocute you," the words fell harshly into my ear.

Wait. I know that voice.

The fear that was dominating my system slowly vanished. I gathered all my strength and spat.

"Gross!"

In an instant, the hand slipped away from my face, and just when the attacker's grip loosened, I flung myself away.

I turned to face him. He had grown a couple of inches taller than me. His voice had changed, but even though I had only heard it on the telephone once, it was easily recognizable. On his head sat a mop of spiky blue hair.

"Jim Lawford," I declared victoriously.

"My Magnemite's right behind you, Jones," he said, narrowing his brows. "I knew you were up to something. I just never thought it'd involve stealing from a run-down art gallery."

He was so serious that I couldn't help but laugh. "Stealing? _Really_, Jim."

Jim didn't move. His gaze moved back and forth to me and his Pokemon who was supposedly right behind. "I had my Magnemite follow you ever since you called. Earlier this afternoon, you dropped by The Artbox for a visit, which is something robbers do before stealing. You want to familiarize yourself with the environment. It'd make things a lot easier for you."

"But – "

"Then afterwards, you sneaked out and hid yourself in this alley and waited until the owner left. And you thought you could get away with it, too," a smirk formed on his face.

I had to stop myself from cracking up. "I hate to break it to you, but you've got it all wrong."

"Then explain," he challenged.

Right then and there, I suddenly realized what I had just said. Sure, I was going to prove him wrong, but was I ready to tell him what I was _really _doing? Jim Lawford, cop wannabe. I shrugged. I'd have to deal with the Olivine City Police Department anyway. I guess I better start with the amateurs.

Hurriedly, I told Jim everything.

The next day, Vulpix and I found ourselves walking to the Police Station. Last night, before running home, Jim told me that he was going to get a search warrant first thing in the morning.

"Are you sure?" I had asked him last night.

"Yes. Let's find out if there's really an underground operation going on in that gallery," Jim had answered. "And if there isn't, well, that gives us another reason as to why you're so pathetic."

I quickened my pace. I had a good feeling that I was going to prove Jim otherwise.

I stood across from Officer Jenny, narrating the details of the case. A heavy oak desk stood between us. She listened attentively, never taking her eyes away from mine.

"And last night, Vulpix tailed Jeremiah and heard him ask someone for directions to 5th Street," I concluded.

"So?" This was Jim's twentieth interruption.

"So," I glared at him briefly before facing his mother once more, "Everyone in Olivine knows where 5th Street is. Jeremiah _could be_ a travelling con-man. He's not staying here for long. If we don't catch him now, he's going to get away with it."

Officer Jenny nodded. "Alright. Since you've presented your facts clearly, logically and systematically, I'm going to issue a search warrant. But if nothing turns up, don't trust that the Police Department will take your word in the future."

"The girl who cried 'art forgery,'" Jim said in a singsong voice. His Magnemite bobbed up and down next to him, and even though it lacked a mouth, it was obviously laughing. At me. Pesky little Pokémon.

I ignored him and directed my gaze towards the back of the room. There, a thin scrawny man in uniform was sitting on his desk, facing two other police officers. He laughed boisterously as he slammed down a playing card on the table, next to a deck. "I win this round!"

_So this is what they do at the police department_, I chuckled as I followed Officer Jenny and Jim out of there.

When we arrived at The Artbox, a yellow post-it note greeted us. It was taped to the door and had the word "CLOSED" scribbled on it.

"It looks like that whoever wrote this was in a hurry," I said. I stepped closer and tried the door. It was locked. I wondered if Jeremiah had already left. My heart began to pound against my chest.

"Outta the way," Jim called out. He beckoned Magnemite and the Pokémon obediently floated closer. It touched one of its magnets to the doorknob and then, slowly, it lifted its body up.

_Click!_

Jim turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. "Good work, Magnemite!"

I shot a glance at Officer Jenny, but instead of contempt, a look of satisfaction came over her face. Some mothers are proud when their children bring home report cards with straight A's, but here's a mother who's proud of the fact that her son can use his Pokemon to pick locks. The world is getting stranger by the second.

"Let's go," she said, waving her hand, as she led the way inside The Artbox.

Once inside, we went straight for the door in the back. Fortunately, it wasn't locked. Inside was a small room. To the right, a staircase was leading to a door on the second floor. Opposite the stairs was another door.

"I'll check upstairs," Jim hastily said, and began to climb, two steps at a time.

"Wait!" I exclaimed. "During the stake-out, there were no lights in the second floor. I don't think Jeremiah ever used that space up there."

Jim knitted his brows and stared at me like I was crazy, then proceeded to climb.

Exasperated, I ran out of there and leaned over the counter. After looking for few minutes, I finally found it. Running back to the backroom, I showed them the Lapras keychain, with the two keys dangling from it.

"Storage. Main," Officer Jenny read the labels on the keys and looked at me for an explanation.

"Jeremiah had _no_ access to the second floor. Let's try this room," I said, motioning to the door opposite the staircases. Jim stopped and slowly walked back down.

"This better be good, Jones," I heard him say.

I turned the knob and the door swung open with a creak. Officer Jenny and Jim stood behind me, waiting. In a moment, we found ourselves staring at an empty room, no more than a few feet wide.

*He got away and took everything with him!* Vulpix cried.


	6. Chapter 6

"Jones, you're wasting our time. There is no underground operation," Jim said and glanced at his wristwatch.

I gulped. No. This can't be. Jeremiah went somewhere last night and it was no doubt here – in the storage room. But how can that be? How did he manage to transport everything in one night and get away scotch free? If he had been responsible for the art forgery, how the hell did he manage to work in such a small space?

Slowly, I stepped into the room. The floor was blanketed in dust. I bent down. No, it wasn't _entirely_ covered.

"Something was placed here," I pointed to one dustless square which was a few inches longer than my shoe. I turned around and saw another, "And here."

"So?" Jim yawned and tapped his foot, trying to be awesome at displaying impatience.

I walked along the sides of the room, careful not to disturb the squares. There was one huge square on the floor, but unlike the others, it had a small brown handle on it. I knelt down and tried to pull it up.

"Is that -?" Officer Jenny ran next to me and helped me pull the latch up.

_Boom!_

I fell back, the top of the trap door almost hitting me in the head. I stood up. There, below us, was a steep set of stairs leading to the basement.

"Bingo!" I exclaimed.

-------------

Once lit, we saw that the basement was filled with empty canvasses and easels, which were propped up in rows. To the right were a cabinet and a chest. There were splatters of paint on the floor. Other than that, the basement was also empty.

I pointed to the easels and then to the paint splatters. "They've been creating art imitations here. Jeremiah probably left in a hurry and took what he can carry. Ever since Antonio De Vega visited, he became paranoid and began packing up his counterfeits. He needed to make an escape as soon as possible."

I told them about that moment when I saw someone carrying a veiled painting to the back room. That was Jeremiah carrying the _Weeping Charizard_. That was why Vulpix and I couldn't find it.

Instead of agreeing with me, Jim laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach. That Magnemite of his bobbed along, looking very much amused. _Bastards._

"An _easel? Paint splatters?_ For goodness' sake!" Jim said in between disgusting giggles. "What if this Jeremiah dude's an artist himself? And what if he needed to be out town in a hurry? This proves nothing."

"But the unauthorized copies," I reasoned. "That's got to count for something."

Officer Jenny shook her head. "Jim's right. The evidence against Jeremiah is insufficient."

"Insufficient_?_ But Officer!" I was in total despair. _Come on!_

"However," Officer Jenny continued, completely ignoring me. "We could always trace the counterfeits to the distributor."

I sighed. It wasn't the distributor's fault. I was about to open my mouth when an image of the Great Detective crossed my mind. I didn't want to beg them to believe me. I had to _prove_ it. That's what Holmes would've done. He would've showed them real, tangible evidence. I looked around and my gaze fell on the paint splatter on the floor. I bent down, dipped my finger in it and sniffed it.

*What are you doing?* Vulpix rushed to my side.

"This smells different. Like –" I stopped.

*Coconuts,* Vulpix finished for me. She had touched her nose to the splatter. *In fact…*

The fox Pokémon began to circle the room, and then she stopped abruptly in front of the cabinet. *Someone's in here.*


	7. Chapter 7

Officer Jenny called out her Growlithe, and Jim, not wanting to be left out, released his Houndour from its Pokeball. Gingerly, Jenny walked towards the cabinet and flung it open.

"Houndour, Ember!" Jim called out immediately.

But before the Houndour could leap, Vulpix growled at him. *Stop!*

Inside was a Smeargle, quivering in the corner. It shrank away at the sight of the Officer.

A Smeargle? Then suddenly, it all made sense.

"Smeargle," It said fearfully, holding on to its yellow-tipped tail and swaying it in the air. That yellow ink was the same one that was used to make the counterfeit _Weeping Charizard._

"Jeremiah's been using a Smeargle," I gazed back at the splatters. There were reds and blues. I corrected myself. "No. He's using a whole team of them."

The Smeargle in the cabinet made a squeaking noise. It must've been separated from the rest. Vulpix inched up to it and began to ask some questions.

I couldn't understand what Smeargle was saying. It takes a while for effortless communication to be established between an owner and her Pokémon. It took me five long years to finally understand what Vulpix's growls and barks had meant.

"What did it say?" I asked when Smeargle cowered back and refused to say anything else.

*It said that Jeremiah and the rest of the Smeargle left not more than fifteen minutes ago,* Vulpix explained. *Smeargle hid here because it didn't want to be with its owner.*

I relayed to Jenny and Jim what my Pokémon had sad. I looked at the poor Pokémon, quivering in fear inside the cabinet. It had a few gashes across its chest and back. "Jeremiah probably maltreated it."

"Fifteen minutes," Jenny looked at her watch. "He could still be in the city. I'll tell the department to send out units."

While she took out her walkie-talkie and contacted the police, Jim pushed his Houndour towards Smeargle. The latter whimpered in fear as the dog-like Pokemon leaped at it and sniffed its tail.

"What are you doing?" I hissed at Jim. The Pokémon was clearly traumatized and here he was being insensitive again.

Jim gestured towards his mother. "Sherriff Dunbar's not going to move until he's finished with his card game. I suggest we track down this Jeremiah ourselves."

I stared at him and wrinkled my nose. "_What?_"

Jim sneered at me. "I had my Houndour pick up Jeremiah's scent off the Smeargle."

"Jeremiah's –"

Of course. That blonde snob probably hit Smeargle many times. His sweaty human scent was still on the Pokemon.

"Vulpix, do the same," I ordered and then added, "But be gentle."

"Good," Jim said, acting worse than a foreman. "I'll take the East End and you take the West."

Before Officer Jenny got off her walkie-talkie to give the okay, we both dashed out of there.

The city was still packed with tourists so I had a hard time following Vulpix without bumping into someone.

"Sorry, excuse me," I said to a person with sunglasses and a T-shirt saying "I survived Olivine". I turned around and kept on running until I spotted Vulpix's red bushy tail stop at a corner. When I finally neared her, she darted full-speed ahead.

I looked up and knew why.

Ahead of us were the Olivine City Docks. In front of the ticket booths were long lines of people, chatting with each other to pass the time.

_Damn! Don't tell me he had already boarded the ship!_

"Vulpix! See him anywhere?" I called out. Vulpix ran to the middle ticket booth and tilted her head towards the line in front of it. Sure enough, there was Jeremiah, with his signature tailored outfit and neatly combed blonde hair.

"Stop that man!" I called out. Immediately, the line dissolved and people began to panic. I saw Jeremiah make a run for it. "Vulpix! Tackle!"

Vulpix managed to hit him in the shin, but it was only enough to slow him down. Jeremiah fumbled for his Pokeballs and in a flash, he threw three of them at once. His team of art thieves popped out.

There were three Smeargles in all. And they were all after Vulpix.

The one with the blue tail dove at Vulpix from the right. The one with the red ink tackled from the left, while Green-tail attempted to use Tail Whip from behind.

"Dodge it Vulpix!" I called out as I pushed myself through a throng of people.

Vulpix leaped out of the way, but Green-tail's attack landed.

"Come on, Vulpix!" I coaxed as my Pokemon struggled to get up. "Use Firespin!"

A spiral of flames emanated from Vulpix's mouth and headed straight for the Smeargle.

Suddenly, Jeremiah called out. "Use Sketch! All three of you!"

The Smeargle grabbed their tails and swirled it in the air. Then, just like that, three flaming hot spirals emerged from their tails and spun towards Vulpix.

"Vulpix!" I called out desperately to warn my Pokemon.

But it was too late. I watched as the Fire Spin attacks zoom in on my Pokemon, ready to knock her out permanently.


	8. Chapter 8

Suddenly, a Wartortle leaped in front of Vulpix and shot a stream of water from its mouth. The flames turned into instant steam. At first, I thought it belonged to some random stranger trying to help me out, but I was wrong.

"Good job, Wartortle!" Jim stood right across from me. Even from afar, it wasn't hard to spot him, with his signature blue hair and his signature Pokémon standing loyally beside him. "Magnemite, Houndour! Don't let them get away!"

Both Pokémon dashed from their trainer's side and locked in on the Smeargle. Wartortle aimed another Water Gun attack at Green-tail and knocked it down. Pretty soon, the rest of the Smeargle were either electrocuted or burned to a crisp.

Jim called back his Pokémon into their Pokeballs. A smug grin had now formed on his face.

"You're such a show off, Jim!" I called out, smiling.

"You're welcome, Jones," Jim answered. Then his grin turned into a frown. He started to panic. "Jeremiah! Where is he?"

Jim hurried towards me, and for a while there, we looked frantically around, like a pair of Spearow looking for worms. But just when we thought he got away, we saw Jeremiah. He was in the middle of a crowd of people not far from us.

And his hair was on fire.

"Help! Help!" He ran in circles, desperately clawing at his hair to put the flames out. The tourists just gawked at him with their mouths open. Finally, someone called out a Poliwag. The tadpole Pokemon attempted to put out the fire by shooting bubbles from its mouth, but it kept missing its target.

"Hurry! Hurry! My hair! My beautiful hair!" he screamed hysterically at the Poliwag.

I felt something brush up against my leg and looked down. Vulpix was wagging her tail, her head tilted up at me. *I was aiming for the vest, but I guess the hair will do.*

"You did a fine job, dear Watson," I replied.

Jim just got off his Blueberry and looked at me. "They're on their way. We got him."

* * *

Antonio De Vega had dyed his Mohawk maroon and I couldn't help but stare at it.

"So we can have the same hair color," he explained.

I just nodded, trying to keep myself from freaking out and running away from there. In front us was a handful of reporters, journalists, photographers and cameramen. One reporter was interviewing Officer Jenny. Once in a while, Jenny would glance at me and give an approving smile that seemed to say, "Good job, Jones. It wasn't a waste of time after all."

Next to Jim, a journalist was jotting down notes on a clipboard. The journalist had pencils behind both his ears, and was talking a mile a minute. "What about 'Amateur Detectives Nail Down Notorious Art Thief'? How does that sound? Sounds amazing, eh?"

"One more shot," the elderly photographer in front of us said and positioned his camera. I picked up Vulpix and, although De Vega was creeping me out, I tried to smile. It wasn't everyday you get to be in the same picture as a renowned artist. I wanted to look decent.

When that was over with, De Vega turned to me. "Ah. I guess I talked to the right person."

"I guess I did, too," I said. It was because of this eccentric artist that I was able to solve my first mystery.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and write reviews_._ I had fun writing this, and I hope that you had enjoyed reading this as well. Anyway, I'm thinking of turning _Heather Jones_ into a series, but I'm also thinking of writing a Trainer Fic. Let me know what you think!

-Penelope


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